


life's lessons

by tinysmallest



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Hell's Studio AU, Hell's Studio Universe, hello everyone and welcome to some sad Arts and Heck, i can't believe Joey's Fucking Dead, in which the first time i'm not saying 'fuck you joey' is because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinysmallest/pseuds/tinysmallest
Summary: The death of a loved one is always a hard thing to cope with. Thesuddendeath of a loved one you would unquestionably outlive and have to spend eternity without is even harder. Unfortunately, it looks like Bendy's going to have to find a way, anyway.But first he has to learn to accept it happened at all.





	life's lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Because the Hell’s Studio death drabbles weren’t sad enough without adding my own take on the idea of the toons (Ben specifically) being rudely confronted with human mortality.
> 
> [Hell’s Studio AU](https://doodledrawsthings.tumblr.com/tagged/hell's%20studio%20au/chrono) was made by [doodledrawsthings](https://doodledrawsthings.tumblr.com) buckle up and enjoy my attempt at writing Emotions.

Funerals were supposed to be for old people.

Well, _dead_ old people, but old people nonetheless. People who’d lived seventy, eighty, ninety, a hundred years. Maybe more. And that notion was juuuust fine with Bendy. The studio that brought him to life both in the 2D world and the real world was full of healthy, young adults. Death was a concept he’d only seriously considered after the dog incident, and it wasn’t anything he wanted to imagine his humans experiencing. The fact that there would be, bare minimum, forty years between almost everyone he’d come to know and never seeing them again eased the tightness he’d felt after realizing how definite death was for humans. Forty years was a long time. Plenty of time to forget, and maybe, just maybe, enough time to eventually learn how to say goodbye.

For a while, though, it would be out of sight and out of mind. He was a busy toon, after all. There were deadlines to meet, pranks to pull, slacking workers to yell at, younger staff members to critique and bolster and celebrate the success of. Not to mention the children who would sometimes come to visit! Life was busy enough without thinking of death, and there were going to be at least forty years.

So then why didn’t that car stop?

Why couldn’t the doctors save him?

Why was there a funeral going on downstairs for a man in his mid-thirties, who he’d just said goodnight to the night before?

It’d been a Tuesday. They played piano. He’d sucked. Par for the course. Joey had laughed and said he was getting better; he was just mad that he wasn’t immediately great at it, that’s all, and hey, no need to make that face Bendy, you’ll get better. We’ll have another lesson on Thursday, yeah?

Okay Joey, fine, whatever. Don’t see why you keep insistin’ on this but whatever. If I gotta learn how to play this thing then someday I’ll play circles around you, just you wait; I hope you’re prepared!

I bet you will, Ben. But it’s getting late and I gotta skedaddle.

Yeah, I gotta get to bed, too. Okay, goodnight.

Goodnight.

Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight; it was supposed to be _goodnight,_ not _goodbye._

_He hadn’t learned how to do that yet._

Had he said anything other than goodnight? Said anything besides the normal at all? He couldn’t remember; that two minute conversation blurred together, words fading and slurring. He’d stayed up working on storyboards instead of sleeping like he was supposed to; _that_ he remembered with crystal clarity, right down to that _stupid_ pose that wouldn’t stop coming out as rigid as rigorm- 

A board.

Somehow there was guilt over that. Going to bed wouldn’t have made a difference, so why did he feel so bad about it?

Why hadn’t he said anything other than goodnight?

That was Tuesday. Wednesday, Henry was waiting for him outside his room when he left it. He didn’t remember much of that day, either.

(If he tried really hard, Bendy could remember a lot of half-hearted laughing and ‘very funny Henry’ and ‘okay you know I love a good prank but really it’s time to stop.’ He remembered mournful howling and soft sobs. He remembered a tight embrace and the feeling that the entire world was coming down around him, and all he could do was stand there, that the hug wasn’t anchoring him at all. He remembered, after he managed to slip away from his mourning friends, and, failing to find the yellow ink, finding the white ink and drinking, drinking, _drinking_ because maybe, the more he drank, the longer the effects would last; that’s how it worked, right?

The colored ink was quickly locked up after that.)

Thursday he sat at the piano all day.

Friday he didn’t bother leaving his drawer.

Today was Saturday.

Sitting in his office without Joey in it was weird. Sure, the idea that Joey lived in his office was a joke, not reality, but there was no denying the fact that if you wanted to find the man, he was probably in his office. And he made the room, not in the way a piece of furniture does, but as an inherent part of the room, like its spirit. The place just felt warmer with him in it, more full, more alive. It was very weird to be in here while Joey wasn’t, especially with Bendy in his chair like he was, but if he stayed up here, kept the door closed, and stared long enough, maybe Joey would come walking through it. Any minute now. With coffee. For both of them, Bendy noted, adding a second mug to Joey’s hands in his daydream. He hoped Joey put extra cream in his.

The door creaked and Bendy almost screamed, scrambling frantically in Joey’s chair and falling out of it as gracelessly as he possibly could have as it squeaked open, light from the hallway flooding the room. Grabbing the edge of the desk, he hauled himself somewhat upright, any sputtering thought of seeing Joey’s stupid mustache and accompanying smile stomped flat by the sight of Henry’s much stockier frame. He was wearing a tired expression that had no right, absolutely none, to be on his face.

And no coffee.

Clearing his throat, Bendy pulled himself back upright, sitting in the chair and folding his hands on the desk, giving Henry his best smile. “Howdy, Henry! What brings you around here?”

Henry looked like he was trying really hard not to grimace and was being, if Bendy was feeling generous, only half successful.

Then he sighed, the grimace melting off his face, an uneasy smile taking its place. “... I’ve got a brand new sketchbook that needs filling, and you’re one page away from finishing your current one. Wanna draw?”

“Wait, now?” Of all the stuff he was expecting out of Henry’s mouth, that was not it.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Why not indeed? Bendy frowned in contemplation for a moment before nodding. Henry passed him his sketchbook and sat on the couch against the wall to the right of the desk, opening his book. Bendy reached into Joey’s desk, finding his pencils without even needing to really look for them, flipping open his own book.

For a while there was soft skritching and occasional mutters of disapproval or grunts of satisfaction. From Henry, at least. Bendy reached for the eraser more than he ever had in his life, scrubbing at the paper with fervor, growls of frustration growing louder each time.

After twenty minutes Henry jumped at the _TWAP_ of Bendy slamming the sketchbook to the desk.

“Why won’t you come out right!? Why isn’t this _working!?”_ He threw the eraser to the desk. It bounced and fell right off. “Why is this going wrong!? Why is _everything_ going wrong!?” He was melting now, breath coming in soft hitching gulps as he vented his anger on the desk, pounding his fists on its surface. “Why’s this happening, why is everythin’ so wrong, why couldn’t- why-”

His throat had gotten too tight for words.

“Sometimes I think that’s why we make cartoons.”

Bendy’s head snapped over to look at him. “What?”

“Life is messy, Ben.” Henry squinted at his drawing and added another line. “It’s crazy, it’s chaotic, and sometimes, it doesn’t make sense. Sometimes it’s- ” He sucked in a breath and set the pencil down. “Painful. Sometimes it’s over far- far too soon. Humans have been making stories since the time we came into being, and it’s always been to explain stuff to themselves. Work through it. Find a way to express what they’re feeling. You’re no cave painting or some wise elder dramatically telling a tall tale over a campfire, but you’re the same concept. Man’s attempt to explain and express everything around us and inside us. To share that with the world.”

Bendy’s ink had long since been running, but still, he remained silent. Henry set his sketchbook aside and stood up, slowly making his way over to his friend.

“This isn’t gonna be easy. It- it never is. We all have our coping mechanisms, and yours isn’t any less right then anyone downstairs sobbing their eyes out. Now that being said... it’s not good for you to shut yourself away, okay?” Bendy opened his mouth and was silenced by Henry’s lifting a placating hand. “I don’t mean that it’s bad _of_ you. I mean it’s bad _for_ you. The more you bottle this up, the worse the flood will be when the cork pops. We don’t want that for you, Ben.” 

Henry averted his eyes for a moment to wipe them. “... We love you. There’s nothing any of us can do for each other to take the pain away, but we can share it, you know? We can bear it together. And we don’t want to watch you struggling with it all alone.” His eyes flicked back to Bendy’s, holding his gaze as ink dripped down the toon’s face. “I promised Joey if anything ever happened to him, I’d look after you three. It’s not just for his sake that I intend to follow through on that promise.”

“I c-can’t- I can’t-” Bendy half choked, half gulped.

“You can. I promise. You can.” For the second time that week, Henry leaned over and hugged him. “It won’t feel like you’re drowning forever, I promise.”

Suddenly feeling very afraid, Bendy latched onto him.

“But you’re allowed to feel like you’re drowning. You’re _allowed._ You’re allowed to- to fall apart, to cry, and you should, you _should_ let it happen. Don’t hide from us. Don’t hide from reality. Please Ben.” His grip tightened and Bendy whimpered. “Your friends need you. _I_ need you. We need you to face this, not destroy yourself over it. Please.”

The last of his resistance crumbled away.

He buried his face in Henry’s shoulder, goopy shoulders shaking as he sobbed harder then he even thought he could. His friend held onto him as he clung like Henry was a lifeline, waiting out the storm for as long as it would last. With each sob it felt like something inside his chest loosened just a tiny bit, let him breathe just a small bit easier, and when at last he’d been wrung dry and he hung limply in Henry’s embrace, he didn’t feel anywhere near as numb as he’d expected to feel.

Henry gave his back a pat and moved back to hold him at arm’s length to look at him properly, his voice low. “You wanna just sit awhile?”

Bendy’s eyes looked over at the door. Still partially open, yellow light leaked into the dark room, blue with evening, he could hear sounds from downstairs. It sounded like...

Laughter?

“Why’re they laughin’?” Jeez, he sounded more tired than he wanted to, despite the flare of anger he felt.

Henry glanced over at the door as if he could see right through it and downstairs. “... Well, I imagine they’re probably swapping Joey stories.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Joey stories?”

“Yeah. Funerals are... there’s no one formula for ‘em but sometimes, after all the crying, people like to talk about the happier times. Remembering the person who died and all the crazy shit they might’ve done together.”

“Like summonin’ a demon?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Like summoning a demon.”

Something weird and unidentifiable was starting to bubble up, and there was no stopping it, so he may as well take after Henry’s example and just go with it. “And forcing piano lessons?”

“Yea- wait, what?” He blinked in surprise as Bendy leaped up and away from him, dashing over to the desk and snatching up his sketchbook. “What are you-”

But Bendy was already gone, throwing open the door and sliding down the banister, because the stairs would just slow him down. He could hear Henry’s heavy footsteps behind him, struggling to try to keep up, but Henry was never a fast runner and the little devil quickly left him in his dust.

The room they’d chosen for the ceremony was big, which made sense. The studio had a lot of people who’d want to attend, as well as the few bits of Joey’s family that were left. The podium was in an easy place to spot; up on the little stage, in the front and center of it. People were giving him some funny looks as he ran by them, and he was fairly sure he heard Boris’s voice calling him, but he ignored all of it, climbing up onto the stage and pulling over a nearby chair someone had left on the stage to reach the podium.

“Hello? Howdy? This thing work-” The microphone gave a hideous screech. “Eugh. Well, I guess it is, kinda.” He set the sketchbook down on the podium. “Howdy everyone! So- so Henry tells me that now is the time that we- we all talk about Joey, right? Well-” He held up the sketchbook. A man and a toon, sitting at a piano together. “Let me tell you- lemme tell you about this garbage he decided was necessary—so like, one day after work is over, and I’m kinda steamed because some mook decided to not do his end of the work and all the backgrounds are gonna be late, Joey decides to pull me aside and give me a piano lesson. A piano lesson, can you imagine!? Like that would make any difference about the backgrounds being late! But he sat me down at the bench with him and started plinkin’ away on that silly thing and y’know it was kinda pretty, so to shut him up I decided to try it, and I was terrible! Godawful! You never heard a worse sound in your life! And he laughed so I decided, hey old man, I’m gonna do it again and I’m gonna be better, and I tried again and- still awful. But he showed me how the technique actually works and I got a little better. Still terrible at it. And I remember we were laughing by the end, and he never let that go, like, ever; anytime I complained about him dragging me off for piano lessons, he reminded me we were always laughing by the end. An’- an’ I promised him, every time, that someday I’d play circles around him and guess what, Joey!”

He looked up at the ceiling and shook his fist at it. Some were still gawking at him, but others looked at each other with quiet, knowing eyes.

“Ya don’t get out of that promise just ‘cause you’re dead! I’m gonna be a better piano player than you ever were an’... an’ play for my friends and laugh whenever- whenever I try and it comes out bad, because I know that someday I’ll be the best! So- so...” His fist lowered.

“Thank you, Joey. For somehow usually knowing exactly what I needed, an’ trying hard to figure it out when ya didn’t. Thanks for- the laughs and the lessons an’... everythin’.” His face colored at all the eyes on him. He cleared his throat again with a mumble of ‘that’s all, folks’ and moved to get down from the chair, but as he grabbed his sketchbook, he spotted a large, stocky frame in the doorway of the room.

Henry’s eyes were red, but he was smiling, and so were the two toons on either side of him, leaning against the wall. Their eyes met, and the corner of Bendy’s mouth quirked up a bit.

_Yeah. Thanks, Joey._

_And all’a you guys, too._

He got down from the podium and ran to his friends’ arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost titled this “Thanks, Joey” and I hope it’s even halfway clear that I figured Joey dragged him into piano to help him loosen up whenever he got too stressed because laughter is the best medicine and sometimes the stressed toon seems to forget that.


End file.
